


Sharp-dressed man

by sasha_feather



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Curtain Fic, Domestic, Kink, M/M, Uniforms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-05
Updated: 2009-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-04 04:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_feather/pseuds/sasha_feather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Sheafrotherdon's "Friendship/Flirting/Thinking of You" Fest. Beta by anatratrope. Written in a couple of hours.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sharp-dressed man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sheafrotherdon's "Friendship/Flirting/Thinking of You" Fest. Beta by anatratrope. Written in a couple of hours.

Lorne sat down to check his email quickly before heading out on a mission, and noticed something from Parrish. Smiling, he opened it:

  
<http://www.someecards.com/upload/confession/id_blow_you_if_we_werent.html>

"Congratulations on the repeal of DADT! Your place tonight? We could break out the dress blues?"

Lorne laughed and confirmed-- he used to be reluctant about soiling his one and only dress uniform. There weren't exactly dry cleaners in the Pegasus galaxy. That was until Parrish whipped up some concoction in his greenhouse that took care of just about any stain he could come up with. The man was a genius in more ways than one.

The mission, of course, went badly. His team was safe, but only because they'd hauled each other physically out of a mud swamp. Lorne arrived back in Atlantis bruised, scraped, and filthy from head to toe. He could swear he had dirt behind his *eyeballs*. Lorne's boots had two pounds of mud on them apiece.

His BDUS he bundled up into a laundry bag to send to central cleaning. His boots he took care of himself, immediately, while he was still dirty himself, knocking them together to get the big clumps off, then scrubbing them down carefully. He'd polish them later.

He took a long shower. Then a bath. He thanked Atlantis again for being an ocean base with generous hot water rationing. He dressed carefully in his uniform and set the table for dinner. Parrish arrived just on time.

"You know," Parrish said, not for the first time. "For a space adventurer, you're remarkably meticulous about your personal appearance. Not that I'm..." he took a sharply indrawn breath. "...complaining."

Lorne grinned meanly. "Dinner tonight is five courses. I expect it to take at least two hours. Find us some music?"

Making last-minute preparations in the kitchen, Lorne froze with the paring knife in his hand. Parrish, damn him, had brought his own iPod, and started playing something new, something no doubt recorded by the anthropologists in recent weeks. It was deep strings and harmonic vocals and percussion, but like nothing he'd ever heard before; it had a yearning, demanding quality. It was like something they heard at orgy festivals. Lorne set down the paring knife. Then he took a breath, steeled himself, and picked it up again. He finished cutting the vegetables, got the salad on the table, and sat down across from Parrish.

Parrish had dressed up too, wearing the one suit he owned-- an expensive charcoal gray with black shirt and a red silk tie. Lorne kept staring at his mouth. Parrish had also, thankfully, brought wine. White wine, of course. "I may be a miracle worker but why risk it," he said, looking Lorne up and down again. His eyes lingered on the collar.

They got through the salad course with their usual small talk, mostly Parrish updating him on the lab gossip and the state of his plants. Lorne took off his jacket and hung it up in his closet. He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, slowly, and folded them carefully around his biceps. Parrish watched him in flattering silence, a small smile on his lips. Lorne put an apron on, tied it behind his waist, and took the roast out of the oven.

He made sure he turned the oven off; that was as far as they got with dinner. Parrish could be surprisingly pushy. That, and Lorne could never really resist having the man's tongue in his ear, and those clever, long fingers wandering his body and slowly undoing all of the many, many fastenings of his uniform.

"The apron, huh?" Lorne managed. "I never would have guessed."

"It's too hot in here," Parrish panted, grabbing Lorne by the belt. "Let's get out of the kitchen."

Lorne made some sort of drawn-out grunting noise that he assumed sounded like assent. His brain kicked in at the last moment and he wriggled out of Parrish's grasp to grab the dessert wine out of the fridge. "We can't forget the most important course," he said, holding it up proudly and removing the cork. Parrish grinned his approval and grasped Lorne's belt again, more firmly this time. Lorne encouraged Parrish to have the first taste, and he could tell Parrish was holding it in his mouth. Parrish's eyes fell closed and he moaned. Not fair. Lorne kissed him them for the first time that day and tasted the wine still in his mouth.

"Out of the kitchen," Parrish managed when he pulled away. "I mean it, I'm not letting you fuck me on this hard floor again."

As much as Lorne appreciated the _clothes off now_ perspective, he was really grateful that Parrish took his time with the clothes. When his shirt came off, it was draped carefully over a chair. Well, Parrish was a patient, attentive man. It was a good thing that Lorne wasn't as young as he used to be, really. And it was so much better for both of their backs and knees that they didn't do it on the kitchen floor anymore. Or the table, or the lab benches, or the supply closets. Although, sometimes that still happened, and at least now they could worry a little less about being caught.

They made love sitting up, Lorne braced against the backboard, Parrish moving slow, slow as they could stand, and holding the little bottle of dessert wine very carefully, drinking sips of it and kissing Lorne. Eventually Lorne grabbed it out his hand in frustration, tossed it aside where it spilled all over the sheets, what little wine was left. He flipped them over on the bed and finished fast, his hands and mouth all over Parrish. Parrish came with a shout that sounded like joy.

In the morning Lorne told him, "You should move in."

"Can I fill the place up with plants?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"Well all right then." Parrish adjusted his tie-- he hadn't brought a change of clothes-- kissed Lorne deeply, and stepped out into the corridor.

\---end---


End file.
